The Death and Life of Superman (54 page)

“Lois? What on Earth—?” Cat gave the reporter a quick once-over and thrust a paper cup of coffee into her hands. “Here, you look like you could use this!”

“Thanks, Cat.” Lois gratefully accepted the cup.
I must really look out of it.
“What’re you doing here so early in the morning?”

“Interviewing Dr. Arthur Cronenberg, the head of psychiatry. It’s for a new GBS special. The network thinks li’l Catherine Jane Grant here is ready for prime time. How about you?”

“Oh, I was trying to interview a sedated safecracker who had his anatomy rearranged by one of the new Supermen.”

“Ow!” Cat made a face. “Sounds painful.”

“It looked painful, too. It’s all so weird, Cat.” Lois sank down into a squeaking vinyl chair. “These pretenders have rescued people, they’ve stopped crimes, they’ve done so many good things—but in other ways, they’re nothing like Superman! They’re cold or cruel—or they’re young egomaniacs with raging hormones!”

A flash of color drew Cat’s attention to an old battered television set mounted on the wall in the corner of the lounge. “Speak of the devil.”

The local GBS station was airing yet another interview with the Boy of Steel. The screen cut to a two-shot of Tana Moon and the young hero seated in front of a huge network logo.

“Yeah, Tana, Steel Hand thought he was tough—the bad guys always do—but nobody’s too tough for
this
Superman!” Superboy grinned and gave a thumbs-up. “Hey, Metropolis, if you’ve got a problem, I’m your man—believe it!”

“Thank you, Superman!” The camera zoomed in to a tight close-up of the glamorous interviewer. “For GBS News, I’m Tana Moon!”

Cat kept staring at the screen long after the station had cut to commercial. “Tana looks a little too good on the tube. I wouldn’t put it past Vinnie Edge to be grooming her as my replacement! I may have to keep an eye on her.”

Lois made a sympathetic noise, but her mind was elsewhere.
All these “Supermen.” For all I know, one of them could have stolen Clark’s body. Maybe they all did! What if these pretenders are all in this together? I might never find out what happened to Clark!

Lois finished the last of her coffee and was turning to toss the cup into a trash can when the silhouette of a man flashed across the frosted glass of the doors at the end of the lounge. The man paused momentarily behind the double doors, as if checking his watch. From the outline, he appeared to be a tall man with a strong jaw; he was wearing glasses and a fedora with the brim turned down in front. His silhouette looked for all the world like that of Clark Kent.

The man moved on, and Lois bolted for the doors. She pushed her way through the double doors, only to see the retreating figure striding away down another corridor. Lois dashed after him. “Clark! Stop! Please!”

“Eh? Beg pardon? Were you speaking to me, ma’am?” The man turned, doffing his hat politely. His thinning hair was white, and he looked to be in his sixties. He was in great shape for his age, but he was obviously not her fiancé.

“Oh! N-no . . . I . . . I’m sorry. Terribly sorry. I thought you were someone else . . . a friend of mine.”

“Ah! Well, don’t let it worry you. These mistakes happen all the time.” The man plopped the hat back onto his head and began to stroll away. “Good luck in finding your friend.”

“Sure, thanks.” The reporter leaned back against the wall.
Get a grip, Lois, or you’ll be seeing Clark everywhere.
She sighed.
I just want him to be alive so much.

22

The visored Superman dropped
down from the sky over the Antarctic, feeling strangely exhilarated. In his travels around the world, lives had been saved and criminals had been punished.
By now, the people must know that they again have a Superman on whom they can depend.
It had been a good beginning, in spite of his encounter with Lois.

That alone had left the Superman troubled. He’d felt a disturbing emptiness upon leaving her, but he’d dismissed it as an echo of experience from a previous life. He was determined not to let such feelings deter him; there was too much to be done.

The Superman dropped beneath the surface, allowing the ice to seal above him as he descended into the Fortress. He called out to his robots, and they scurried to attend him. Two of the metal servitors removed his cape and shield and flitted away to clean the garments and hold them in storage until they were again needed.

The Superman’s step was light as he strode through the wide halls of the hidden sanctuary.
Thank the Creator, I can retire to this fine Fortress to rest and plan my next missions.
As he approached the monitors, though, his stride began to slow, and his joy to fade.

Across the monitors flashed images of red and blue—of strangers attired as Superman. One screen focused on a close-up of a dark-haired young teenager in a leather jacket giving a cocky thumbs-up. “Hey, Metropolis, if you’ve got a problem. I’m your man—believe it!” Another screen reran taped highlights of an armored man stopping a firefight. Yet a third showed a caped Cyborg towing a disabled ocean liner into port.

“What in Krypton’s name is this?! Who are these people that they
dare
to wear the emblem of Superman?!”

A robot flitted obediently to the visored man. “Their origins are unknown to us, sir. But their activities have garnered considerable media attention—some more so than your own.”

The Superman fought to keep his anger in check. “Unit Twelve, continue monitoring and compile all available data on these pretenders. I wish to know more about them.”

He turned and stalked away from the screens. The Superman was surprised by the intensity of his anger; it had disturbed him perhaps even more than his meeting with Lois, and he suddenly felt drained and exhausted. He retired to bask in the renewing energies of the Regeneration Matrix. There he stood for over an hour with his eyes closed, gently running his hand over the surface of the Matrix and absorbing its energy. He did not yet know the identities or the motives of those other “Supermen,” but if they dared challenge him, they would find him prepared.

At Metropolis City Hall, Captain Maggie Sawyer paused a few moments outside Police Commissioner Casey’s door. The captain had never been one for useless speculation, but she wondered what this unexpected summons was all about. It had been a while since she’d caught any static over the S.C.U. . . .

Sawyer thought of Inspector Turpin’s offhand comment about her “skinny butt” that had been dutifully relayed to her by Sergeant Rusty Sharp the night they investigated Superman’s tomb. She knew that Turpin hadn’t meant anything personal by it, but if that little communiqué had gotten repeated outside her unit—
maybe some higher-up is bent out of shape over a perceived “lack of discipline.”

Or maybe this meeting was about her membership in the local Gay and Lesbian Police Officers Association. She’d told the commissioner that she intended to run for association president next year;
was someone upset about that?
She was well aware that not everyone approved of her joining the association, though overall she’d gotten more support than flak—even from her ex-husband, interestingly enough. Jim Sawyer had been badly rocked when Maggie had begun to come to terms with herself—the divorce had been messy—but he’d since become a lot more supportive, even agreeing to joint custody of their daughter. When they’d last spoken and she’d mentioned her work with the association, he’d cheered her on. “Mags, if you’re gonna come out of the closet, you might as well come out with guns blazing.” Sawyer smiled tightly.
Wish me luck, Jim.

She gave a perfunctory knock on the commissioner’s office door.

A muffled voice answered from within. “Enter.”

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Sawyer took one step over the threshold and stopped short. Commissioner Casey was nowhere to be seen, but Inspector William Henderson was leaning casually against the commissioner’s big walnut desk, warming his hands around a big mug of coffee.

“Morning, Captain, come in. Coffee?”

“No, thank you.” She took another step and closed the door behind her.

“Have a seat.” Henderson gestured to a big leather chair in front of the desk. “We appreciate your coming in at this hour.”

“No problem, Inspector. I’d just gotten in from a stakeout when I got the call.” She stood by the chair uncertainly. “What’s going on? Where’s the commissioner?”

Henderson looked down at the floor, as if collecting his thoughts. “Jack Casey resigned last night.”

“Oh, no.” Sawyer slid down into the chair. “I knew he’d been under a lot of pressure—!”

“Yeah. It’s a damned dirty shame. He was a fine policeman, a good cop, one of the best. But with Superman gone, every citizens’ group in the six boroughs was on his back over the recent crime wave. Well, it’s not his problem anymore. The mayor’s named me as his new police commissioner.”

“Wow.” Sawyer had already figured as much, but hearing the news spoken aloud still made quite an impact. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, but given the heat I’ll be taking, condolences might be more in order.” Henderson nervously paced the floor. “Maggie, I know there’s been some friction between the two of us over your command of the Special Crimes Unit, maybe even some hard feelings . . .”

“Never on
my
part, Commissioner.” Sawyer pursed her lips. “To tell the truth, I’ve always wondered exactly what the problem was.” She raised an eyebrow. “Was it because of my gender? Or my sexual orientation?”

“What?” Henderson looked startled. “Why, neither one! Don’t be ridiculous!” He set down his coffee and leaned forward across the desk at her. “It just always stuck in my craw that as high-profile an outfit as the SCU was headed by a
captain
!” He threw up his hands and resumed pacing. “I wouldn’t care if you were male, female, or neuter—but you have
inspectors
reporting to you, taking orders from an officer whom technically they outrank!”

“I see.” Sawyer let out a sigh of relief. “I guess I can’t blame you for that. When we were first getting the unit organized, I was a little uncomfortable about that myself. But Inspector Turpin finally put me at ease. He never seemed to mind about rank.”

“Mind?!” Henderson snorted. “The way I hear it, Dan Turpin thinks you walk on water. Not that he’s alone. Every last one of your officers would go through fire for you. That says a lot about you as a leader.” The new commissioner looked a little sheepish. “This captain thing . . . maybe I shouldn’t let it bother me. After all, the SCU wasn’t my unit, and you’ve done a damn good job with it!” Henderson suddenly pulled himself up tall and looked Sawyer straight in the eye. “But I still don’t like exceptions to the chain of command. And now I have the power to do something about it, something that should have been done a long time ago . . .
Inspector
Sawyer!”

“Inspector?” Sawyer blinked. “That’s a very generous solution.”

Henderson smiled and offered her his hand. “It’s long overdue, Maggie. You’ve built the SCU into a model that’s being copied all across the country. I have a news conference scheduled for tomorrow . . . we’ll make all this official then.” They shook on it and he continued. “But for right now, we have a lot of craziness on our plate, and a lot of contingencies to plan for.”

The commissioner stepped behind his desk, and his new inspector pulled her chair in closer. “Ever since Superman’s body disappeared—and that’s just one of the mysteries we have to solve—those crazy cultists who worship him have been attracting more and more followers. Now you’ve been working the cult angle yourself, correct?”

Sawyer nodded. “Right. I don’t think any of them are responsible for the theft of the body, but there’s already been a schism within the original group. If the body isn’t found soon, things could turn ugly.” She paused. “We’re going to need more personnel.”

“Tell me about it. One of my conditions for taking this job was the mayor’s guarantee that we’d be budgeted for a thousand new officers. It’s going to take time to find them and train them, though. And in the meantime, we have to decide what to do about all these blasted Supermen! What we need is one
real
Superman, not four understudies.” Henderson spread photos of Superboy, the Cyborg, the Man of Steel, and the visored Kryptonian across his desk. “What do you think, Maggie? Superman worked more closely with the SCU than with any other police unit. You knew him better than I did. Is there any chance—even a remote one—that he’s somehow still alive?”

“I don’t know. It seems like too much to hope for.” Sawyer flipped through the four photos and their attached reports. “After what we went through with Cadmus, I could almost believe the kid’s story about being a clone. The one in the metal suit doesn’t seem to have that much power, and he seems to be focusing his attention on street crime; not a bad decision, all things considered. The Cyborg hasn’t stayed put long enough for any of us to get a handle on him—is this NASA report true?”

Henderson shrugged. “It is according to Washington. One of their space probes recorded the Cyborg bolting the Doomsday monster to a meteor and tossing it—what does it say there?—‘in an arc that sent it flying out of the plane of the solar system and eventually, out of the galaxy as well.’ Could our Superman have done that?”